


the equivalent of sunshine

by codesandhearts



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Fluff as hell, lil angst tho, monty green: beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codesandhearts/pseuds/codesandhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Miller's pretty sure Monty Green is an actual angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the equivalent of sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> minty is the superior ship. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: depictions of a panic attack

 




So this is what he knows about Monty Green: he’s clumsy with an axe and not very fast when he runs (he’d never make it through basic training for the Guard, let alone get accepted); playing with electronics and toys was the only thing he liked doing in Mount Weather, the only thing he could’ve done to protect them all; he’s tactile and likes holding hands with Harper and the other kids, can even manage to get Bellamy into a hug once in a while. He’s smart and kind and, whenever he smiles, it seems like the world gets a lot better.

Miller also knows this: after Mount Weather, after Clarke left and they were supposed to pick up the pieces of the families they found and lost, Monty’s smile is strained. The frequency doesn’t change –he’s still generous with his affection to the others, but it seems like whatever happened in that control room haunts him until it’s manifesting in a physical way. It’s not surprising, in retrospect. The mountain changed all of them and Camp Jaha feels haunted, even by people who are still alive.

Harper still wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp and her hands touching her scars, as if the pain is a tether; Jasper whispers Maya’s name at odd times of the day; Bellamy can be seen staring at the gate every few days, posture straightening whenever someone comes towards it. It’s never her, though.

Miller’s not friends with Monty in the traditional sense –they share pleasantries and make space for the other when they eat- but he’s just noticed things about Monty. Things that might seem insignificant but, somehow, Miller can’t stop looking at Monty sometimes and just wonder: how can one person be the equivalent of sunshine all the damn time?

He comes into Monty and Harper’s tent now, because Bellamy asked them to go hunting together. Although the adults and guards have better weapons by far, what was formerly the 100 are still being assigned to ground duty –hunting, scavenging, sometimes even map-making. They were here first, after all.

“You ready?” Miller asks.

Harper looks better now, since the first few days they came back from Mount Weather. There’s more colour to her face and her scars are fading slowly. She has her hair tied up and has her gun strapped to her back as she helps Monty into a warmer jacket. It’s not that cold but the kid is just skin and bones, really.

“Ugh,” Monty says as he looks down at himself. “Why am I going hunting? I’m no good with a gun like you guys are.”

“Maybe you’re just the eye candy,” Harper says with a smirk.

“Please.” Monty huffs. “Like anyone’s gonna think that.”

Now Miller doesn’t know why but his eyes go to Monty’s lips as he speaks –red from biting it nervously.

“C’mon,” he says. “You need the practice.”

Monty raises an eyebrow to him. “I hate guns. Bellamy’s never going to make me a gunner.”

“Then you can just be our eyes and ears. You make tolerable company.”

“Gee, thanks, tell us how you really feel, Miller.”

Miller laughs as Harper rolls her eyes. They go out, Miller revelling in the chance. He likes going being out of the camp and Bellamy knows it, it’s probably why he always makes excuses for Miller to follow on hunting trips or patrol. Camp Jaha is great and all, safe and theirs, but there’s something about the open air. He’s been surrounded by walls for his entire life.

Camp Jaha is getting crowded now, too much noise and people. His father can’t stop looking at him like he’s breakable and sometimes, at night, he can hear his dad sniffle a tear. Miller tries not to do the same.

The woods are a welcome distraction and so are Harper and Monty. They talk softly, if at all, and make sure Miller is welcome to the conversation. It’s nice, having friends like these. When they first crashed on Earth, he didn’t really have friends. He had his leaders and his hunting crew, most of whom are dead now. But he has Harper and Monty now, and Jasper sometimes when he’s not being a dick.

 They all love each other, sure, but in the strange and dysfunctional way people love each other in the wake of a shared apocalypse.

“Hey,” Monty says after a few minutes of silence. Harper’s further away, thinking she saw a two-headed deer. “You okay?”

“I’m always okay,” Miller says. “Are you?”

He’s probably not going to tell Miller if he isn’t but it’s polite to ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is small, though, unsure. He reaches into his pack. “Anyway, I wanted to give you something.”

Miller raises his eyebrow as Monty holds something in his hand. A beanie. Like the one he used to wear.

“It’s not that great, I just made it from scrap fabric. I dunno, it’s like you don’t look like you without it. I mean, you still look good –I mean, you look nice and normal. But just-”

Miller laughs. “I get it, Green. That’s real nice of you. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to and I just wanted to do something with my hands. Something good.” He comes closer to Miller and Miller loses his train of thought. Monty smells like soap and berries. “Can I?”

Miller nods because he doesn’t trust his mouth right now. Monty reaches up and puts on the beanie for him. It’s warm and good and, if Miller’s being honest, the best thing that’s happened to him in days.

Harper calls for them and Monty smiles at him excitedly before running off like a puppy. Light comes through the trees right at that moment and Monty looks like he has a halo. Miller just stands there thinking, _are you fucking kidding me_.

 




Miller’s pretty sure that he’d be a fat kid if the Ark allowed it. He loved food, loved the flavours and different textures. Back when they lived in the dropship, he sometimes helped with the cooking. He couldn’t do much, there weren’t any herbs or spices, but he just liked the whole ordeal. It calmed him, somehow. He was Bellamy’s second-in-command for most of the day and shot at things like it was his life’s work. It was nice to just work with something that wasn’t going to hurt anyone, for once.

At Camp Jaha, he helps in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning when no one’s around because it’s not like he can sleep anyway. He cuts up the meat, packages it up, doesn’t say a word and is out of the kitchen before the camp is even awake.

It’s the only peace he gets sometimes.

“Hey,” someone says and Miller, holding a knife, almost wants to stab them. That is, until he turns around and sees that it’s Monty. “What’re you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Miller shrugs.

“So, you decided to prepare breakfast?”

“Are you judging me?”

Monty laughs. “No, there are worse things to do at four in the morning. Need some help?”

He doesn’t want it, but it’s _Monty_. “Yeah, sure. If you could just, maybe, cut up those leaves?

There’s not a lot of space in their makeshift kitchen so Monty has to use the cutting board right next to him. Their shoulders brush against each other every few seconds and Monty always gives him a shy smile. They keep to their sides, mostly, but it’s nice. Miller thought he’d hate someone encroaching on his only time alone but Monty is just a calming presence.

Monty starts humming under his breath about five minutes in, an old song the Ark children used to sing. His mom used to sing it to him when he was a kid, too. He doesn’t know why but he tells Monty this.

“Mine, too,” Monty says. “Used to sing it in Korean, sometimes, too.”

“She knew Korean?” he asks because he doesn’t know any language other than English and perfunctory French, usually spoken by people on Alpha.

“Yeah. I know a bit, too, but not much. Always thought I’d get a chance to learn more.” His eyes turn downcast. “Never did.”

Miller feels the silence between them. “Which station were they on?”

“Agro.”

“There’s a still a chance of finding them, then,” Miller says.

“Not a big one.”

“Better than me,” Miller says. His hands curl around the knife he’s holding, trying to suppress the sound of her voice or the feel of her hand on his; trying to forget how his dad holds a picture of all of them when he sleeps. “My mom was on Factory.”

Miller’s seen that girl, Mel, the only survivor from Factory around the camp. He wants to ask her if she saw his mom, if it was quick, but he hasn’t gotten around to it.

“But you lived on Alpha,” Monty says.

He bites his lip so hard he tastes metal in his mouth. “When Jaha told the Ark there was a big chance not all of the stations would make it down, my mom...she wanted to give me a chance to have at least one parent that made it to the ground. She couldn’t have known Alpha would make it, or that Factory wouldn’t. She just, I dunno, I guess she just wanted to give our family the best chance.”

Miller is hyperaware of Monty’s presence now. Every breath and movement that touches him. He doesn’t want to look at him, not now. He might do something stupid, like tell him how he might be feeling or cry. Monty puts down his knife and walks away. Miller tries not to act surprised.

But he can hear the rustling of plastic and Monty comes back.

“Here,” Monty says, opening the palm of his hand. It’s a small piece of chocolate. “I’ve been keeping it for a rainy day. You deserve it.”

Miller laughs. He finally looks up to Monty, sees him with his stupid worried face, and says, “You are something else, Monty Green.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

Miller doesn’t answer because Monty has no idea.

 




Miller has an honorary spot in Monty and Harper’s tent now. It’s like ever since that embarrassing moment Miller almost cried in front of Monty, Monty’s been latching onto him like a pet. It should annoy him, really. He always seems to pop up in the middle of nowhere, spouting some nonsense about his electronics and forces him to interact more with the people in the camp because, of course, everyone knows and loves Monty.

But he also saves Miller a seat at his table during mealtimes, touches him reassuringly whenever he thinks Miller needs it and looks cute going on and on about what he and Raven are doing to strengthen their communications. Really, he goes a mile a minute and his hands gestures go completely nuts. It’s ridiculous.

So Miller has his own spot, where he sits down when he’s tired or can’t handle his dad. It’s no big deal except he keeps thinking that it is.

He doesn’t want to think about it, this newfound thing between him and Monty, based on the foundation of Monty being too good and perfect for this world. Monty’s nice to everyone, even Jasper, who still ignores him for the most part. Miller’s just the newest person to fall in love with Monty Green. Except not really. Not fall in love like _fall in love_ but, just, you know.

There’s a bonfire tonight. He doesn’t really know why. There just is. Monty perfected his new moonshine formula a few days ago so, of course, there are drunk people dancing and singing around said bonfire.

Miller hasn’t had a drop to drink, neither has Monty, as far as he can tell, but it doesn’t look like he needs it. Monty is singing along without a care in the world. He waves to Miller when their eyes meet and skips towards him.

“Hi,” Monty says happily, yelling over the sound of everyone else. “I wanna show you something.”

Without waiting for a response, Monty grabs his hand and pulls him away from the crowd, towards the dining area where he notices Monty’s backpack. He keeps singing softly as he rummages through the bag until he comes up with what he was apparently looking for. It’s a beaten down old radio. So Monty must’ve had a few cups of moonshine because this is nothing to get excited about.

“Uh,” Miller says.

“Press the button.”

Miller does and, at first, there’s nothing but static but something comes on. Soft, melodic tunes accompanying voices. _I was made for sunny days, I was made for you_.

“Raven and I found some old CDs and we fixed them up. It’s not much, won’t help find the other stations or anything but the music is nice. Thought you’d like it.”

“I...” the song drifts between them, like it’s meant to say something more. “Thanks.”

Monty smiles and it does stupid things to Miller’s heart. “You’re welcome.” Someone from the bonfire calls for Monty and he skips off to return to the party. Miller is left standing there, listening to a song about how much this girl loves this guy.

“He likes you,” someone says. He didn’t notice anyone else was there. Man, he is so far gone. He can smell the alcohol on Octavia from two tables away but she looks stone-cold sober. Nowadays, she always looks stone-cold something.

Miller scoffs. “He likes everyone. Have you met him? He offers to babysit the younger kids, helps during clean-up and goes out of his way to help everyone. He can't even hate Jasper when he's being a dick. Even I hate Jasper."

"You hate everyone, Miller. Your judgmental face is your default face. And sure, that’s all true. But he still likes you best,” Octavia says. “You don’t see me holding a personalized radio. It _is_ personalized, you know. I was there with Raven when he was working on it. Look at the bottom of the thing.”

Miller turns it over and, there it is, his name carved into the metal with stupid hearts. “Shit.”

“Monty’s nice to everyone; it’s why everyone loves him. But you, you’re different.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. Oh, man.

“Why are you even talking to me about this?” Miller asks Octavia. “We’re barely even friends.”

Octavia stands up, holds her sword by her side. “Yeah, true. But we are family.”

Miller has half a mind to join her and Monty at the party but his dad is coming towards him.

“Nate,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Miller shrugs. “Been busy.”

“You’ve been hanging out with that Green kid.”

“Something wrong with that?” Miller doesn’t know why he’s being so defensive. There’s a part of him that knows, that knows, his dad is the only family he’s got and this childish temper tantrum isn’t warranted but that part always gets won out by his selfish and unreasonable self.

“No,” his dad is quick to answer. “He’s a good kid. He’s good for you.”

What does that mean?

“Are you coming home tonight?” his dad asks.

“Dunno yet.”

“Nate.” There’s that voice of his –the Chief Guard voice, the voice he used when Miller was in lock-up, when he started stealing. “You can’t just live your entire life being angry.”

“I can try.”

Miller goes to leave but his dad grips him on the arm. “Your mother-”

“My mother should be alive right now,” he says angrily. “You shouldn’t have let her go. You shouldn’t have-”

“Nathan-” but Miller’s already leaving. He doesn’t know where to go, definitely not to his room or the party so he just walks towards Monty’s tent, where he has a spot. Monty’s not there but it doesn’t even matter anymore. He’s safe here. He’s childish and petty, thinking he can outrun his entire life but that’s why he started stealing in the first place.

Some habits, even when they’re locked up in the sky and then tossed to Earth and forced to hold a gun, are hard to break.

So he shakes and thinks, maybe, when he wakes up, he won’t be a disappointment or a screw up; that he’ll wake up and stop having feelings about Monty Green because Monty deserves so much better; that Clarke will be back and everyone’s scars from the mountain will fade. Maybe, in the morning, they’ll be back at the dropship or the Ark or some other place where nothing else can touch them.

 




Miller wakes up warm. His room in the Chief Guard’s quarters is always cold. He doesn’t put it together until he opens his eyes and sees he has a blanket over him and a sleeping Monty curled at his side. Monty has an arm slung over Miller’s stomach and Miller tries to extract himself as smoothly as possible so he won’t wake up. It doesn’t work.

The second Miller tries to get up, Monty jolts awake and holds Miller down with a hand to his chest.

“Whoa, there, sailor, I’m just getting up,” Miller says. He comes up to pull Monty’s hand away but all Monty does is grip tight on Miller’s hand.

“You were shaking when I came in,” Monty says.

“It’s nothing. Where’s Harper?” because he’s just noticed they’re alone in the tent.

Monty shrugs. “Told her to bunk with Monroe. Miller, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just got into a fight with my dad. It was stupid. I know it was but I just-”

“You miss her.”

Monty’s grip loosens and Miller looks down at their intertwined hands, focusing, instead, on how soft Monty’s hands are. He always thought all those years working on electronics and living on Agro would make them tough and hard but they’re just a little calloused.

He thinks about his mom, about how she always told him stories; thinks about Mount Weather and how bloodied he was by the end of it, how he didn’t like looking down on his hands and wondering if brute force was all he was good for; about his name carved on the bottom of that radio.

He thinks about Clarke leaving, how he’d known her all his life on Alpha but never made any notion to get to know her; about Bellamy who looks so weary and tired nowadays; about Octavia and how she said they were family now. He thinks about all of this, all at once, and, like the dropship he was stuffed into a lifetime ago, it crashed all around him.

He starts to shake again. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t remember the last time he cried. But he shakes and trembles –his hands shiver and become cold, even when one of them is holding Monty’s. The entire world shakes with him, tiny eruptions that vibrate through his skin. He tries to breathe, in and out, but it gets stuck in his throat halfway. Miller feels like a natural disaster.

Monty stays, steadies his grip and wraps more blankets around him. He waits for the shaking to pass, for Miller’s breath to even out, keeps holding his hand.

“Miller. Miller. _Nate_ ,” Monty is saying. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”

“You...you called me Nate,” he says.

Monty laughs shakily. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

Monty keeps touching him all over, hands stroking his hair, cupping his cheek. “You should talk to him.”

“I know.”

“He misses her, too. And this...this isn’t his fault. Your mom, your lock-up, Mount Weather...it’s not his fault. It’s not yours, either.”

Miller remembers he has hands and touches Monty, too. He puts a hand on his knee. “I should be telling you that,” he says. “Because I’ve noticed, you know. After Mount Weather. What you did, what you and Clarke and Bellamy did....we’d be dead without it. I know that. I don’t know if anyone’s told you that or if you’ve listened at all but you did that to protect us.”

“Miller, this isn’t about me right now.”

“It never is, is it, you noble ass?” Miller manages a smile. “You help everyone and try to make up for what you did but you don’t need to make up for anything. What you did saved us. And maybe it’s gonna take a while for you to believe that but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Monty comes close and leans his forehead against Miller’s. “We’re a little messed up, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we really found each other.”

When Miller closes the space between them, puts his lips on Monty’s, it’s the most natural thing in the world. Monty tastes like berries and, faintly, of moonshine. His lips are chapped but soft in all the right places. He squirms when Miller comes in closer.

Monty makes this squeak of happiness Miller definitely does not hate when Miller repositions them so they line up like puzzle pieces. He always thought Monty would be soft and slow but he kisses back with eagerness, hands coming up to his hair, his neck, running down his back. And he’s _noisy_ , little moans and gasps, which is driving Miller crazy.

He’s kissed people before, this shouldn’t be a big deal but he gets caught up on how soft Monty’s hair is and how this is _Monty Green_ and he’s kissing Miller back. Miller wants to spend weeks kissing him, learning all the different ways Monty Green can love.

 

Miller goes back to his room eventually, finds his father sprawled on the couch with sleep marks on his face. He looks so tired.

He tells his dad he doesn’t blame him, he never did. It was her choice and Miller wasn’t going to take that away from her. He tells his dad he loves him, he tells him he’s sorry, he cries for the first time in years. So does his father.

In the wake of crashed life, they decide they’re going to build a new one. They’re going to dig an empty grave and put a headstone, they’re going to bandage their wounds and try to find it in themselves to forget the lives the Ark forced on them; Miller’s going to introduce his dad to his boyfriend.

 




It’s Bellamy’s birthday and he doesn’t really celebrate but the kids love him too much to let him get away with that. It was supposed to be a surprise but some of them got scared that he’d accidentally shoot them when they served him the cake.

Lincoln’s been working on the food for days and Miller’s been helping out. He didn’t think actual cooking would be this stressful. Preparing breakfast in the dead hours of the morning seems like amateur hour now.

They decide to have the party at the dropship. It takes a while for the adults to agree but Miller’s dad is Chief Guard and Kane has always had a soft spot for them. It feels a little haunted but, somehow, more like home than Camp Jaha. It’s scarred and ashen and Miller can smell the faint scent of death but he loved it here, once.

Bellamy feigns surprise when he’s escorted to the dropship and lets the kids hug him until he falls to the ground, laughing.

Miller can tell it hasn’t been easy for him without Clarke but he never shows it. he keeps thinking these kids need a constant. He just never thought it’d be him.

It’s a good party, with Monty’s moonshine and Lincoln’s cakes to make them feel giddy. Miller looks around the camp and everything feels right. Jasper’s started talking to Monty again, in small sentences, trying to rebuild everything they had before the mountain; Octavia and Lincoln are as steady as ever, holding hands one second and looking murderous the next; Monty smiles at him with a mouthful of cake.

So this is what he knows about Monty Green now: he is an obsessive cuddler in bed and hogs most of the blankets when they’re sharing, he has a Thing about Miller’s mouth that might prove distracting when Monty’s trying to kiss him anytime he does anything with his mouth; he makes a good first impression with parents and has an hour every day where he won’t let anyone talk to him so he can focus on the communications and maybe find his parents.

He also has nightmares sometimes and wakes up reciting a numerical sequence Miller doesn’t know. He’s still nice and kind and sort of perfect but he refuses to let Miller think he’s some kind of angel.

It hasn’t been easy, these past couple of months. The kids from Mount Weather still look like living cadavers sometimes and Clarke hasn’t come back. They haven’t found the other stations and the Grounders might come for them at any day. Maybe, one day, they’ll find a place that’s not held up by walls or doors or old Ark customs –somewhere entirely their own, where Miller can kiss his boyfriend at any time of day and not feel like he’s being watched, where his mom can have a proper grave, where Bellamy might find his smile again.

But, Miller thinks as Monty comes towards him with a piece of cake and a small kiss, this is a good enough place to wait.

 


End file.
